


alone alone alone

by starforged



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: F/F, NOTHING IS GOOD AND EVERYTHING HURTS, Sad sad sad, Spoilers for Episode 132, spoilers for episode 133
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 23:05:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18433970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starforged/pseuds/starforged
Summary: Her fingers dig into messy, dark, dirty hair. They anchor there and hold Daisy to her. A small hiss escaped her lips, but Basira ignored it. Pain was real; Daisy needed to feel real.She held back onto Basira without hesitation, neither woman caring about the audience for this moment. Besides, she was already used to an audience. They were always watched.





	alone alone alone

There had been constant reassurance in what Daisy was. Strong, stubborn, a force to be reckoned with even before they got mixed up with the Magnus Institute. So when she had died (not really, she hadn't died, a coffin that led down down _down_ had swallowed her whole in a way that Basira realized she wanted to do), she had accepted that loss. It was painful, an aching emptiness that felt a lot like starvation. But she accepted it because what the institute needed was someone strong and stubborn and put together. 

She was the only one holding herself together, which meant she was holding _everything_ together. 

And there was relief in walking in and seeing Daisy. She hadn't let herself think it was even a remote possibility they could bring her back. She was gone. Hadn't she spent eight months accepting that inevitability? Hadn't she let it fall behind her and get tucked away in the back of her mind? Safe and secure where nobody, not even All Knowing Jonathan Sims, could pluck out without trying hard.

It flooded out. It hurled her into the sea, seeing Daisy gaunt and pale, hearing her shaky voice.

Daisy had never had a shaky voice. 

She rested her weight against Jon, and Basira could see the shakes hadn’t just invaded her voice. It was in her limbs too. 

She took all of these minute details in at once, her body moving as fast as her mind was. She pushed Jon out of the way, wrapping her arms around Daisy and holding her close. Did it matter? Daisy had been lost, now Daisy was here. She was allowed to feel shaky, the tremors in her skin rubbing against Basira’s uncomfortably. 

Her fingers dig into messy, dark, dirty hair. They anchor there and hold Daisy to her. A small hiss escaped her lips, but Basira ignored it. Pain was real; Daisy needed to feel real. 

She held back onto Basira without hesitation, neither woman caring about the audience for this moment. Besides, she was already used to an audience. They were always watched. 

-

Daisy slept.

Basira did not.

She didn’t leave the room, though, as if she needed to reassure herself that this was real. If she tugged on her own hair, if she pinched herself, if she managed to bite through the webbing of skin between her thumb and forefinger, would she feel it? Would that make this real.

And why was it, she wondered, staring down at Daisy’s head in her lap, a hand curled around her thigh, that she was doubting reality?

In an hour, she would have to wake Daisy. They would need to practice walking, showering, dressing. Practice eating. That had been the routine the last three days. Hours upon hours of sleep, months worth being crammed into a 24 hour period, but it wasn’t good for her body. It wasn’t good for the muscle atrophy that had crept into powerful limbs and stolen the fire from them. 

Basira licked her lips, dry and cracked, as she stared down at her partner. Her heart hammered in her chest. Daisy breathed in, out, her back rising with each breath, filling out. Jon had said little of what it was like inside the coffin (and there was no use asking Daisy, who shied away from the question, who kept herself in the open spaces of Basira’s flat), but she knew that taking up space was a luxury. 

-

“You want to go to the Institute?”

Daisy pulled apart her toast, little scatters of crumbs across the plain blue plate like ash. She hadn’t eaten a bite of it. Hadn’t touched any of the breakfast Basira had made her (her favorite, lots of protein, one slice of toast, coffee and not tea). “I don’t want to be stuck inside of here anymore.”

I don’t want to be within these walls.

They’re getting too small.

Basira didn’t take her gaze off of Daisy as she took a sip of her earl gray. Bitter. It burned her tongue. Real. “I’m just surprised.”

“You’ve been off work for too long, and I can see you getting restless.”

Unfortunate.

“I do have cases to catch up on.” Basira spoke slowly, letting the words drip from her mouth as if hoping to spark _anything_ inside of Daisy. A need to hunt, a need to help her out. 

Instead, she pressed her fingers into the crumbs and brought them to her mouth. Sucked them from her fingertips. Disinterest flickered through eyes, but when she caught Basira watching her, she picked up a slice of bacon and shoved it into her mouth whole. 

She didn’t chew.

“We could do footwork.” 

Basira remembered when Daisy had been so desperate to get her to herself, away from the Institute and the Beholding, so they could be themselves again. The old them, before the madness. She should have taken her up on the offer. She should have swallowed her disgust and uncertainty and gone with Daisy. One last hoorah.

Daisy shoved the bacon into her cheek, like some sort of rodent storing food in their pouch for later. Her words were thick, tongue and saliva uncooperative. “I think I’ll sit with Jon.”

With… Jon. The Archivist? Her Archivist? 

Her nose wrinkled at that thought, unwelcomed and dry. 

“You hate Jon,” Basira pointed out.

Finally, she began to chew, as if to prolong the agony of this conversation, leave Basira hanging on. Seconds ticked off. A minute. 

“I’m not so sure,” Daisy replied.

Four words. Simple words. It shouldn’t have been a big deal, but it seemed to rock Basira to her core. The world shifted, off kilter. 

She swallowed it down as awkwardly as Daisy had her food. “Okay. I just need to grab something, and then we can be off.”

In the privacy of her bedroom, far from the kitchen and Daisy’s awkward and tired shuffling, she pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes and willed herself to not cry. Not now, probably not ever. 

She needed Daisy. _She needed Daisy_. And this was worse than not having Daisy, worse than being alone, because she had her and she - 

Fuck, she wasn’t sure what to think. Whoever that woman was, it wasn’t Daisy. There was no fire, no need, no achingly horrific attitude that made her weak in the knees. There was no way she could put any of her weight on those shoulders, because she couldn’t have handled it.

Alone, alone, alone. 

Basira dragged into a long, shaky breath. 

It beat a tattoo against her mind.

Alone, alone, alone. 

“You okay in there, Basira?” 

_Pull yourself together, Hussain. They need you. You’re all they got._

She repeated it, over and over, until alone was nothing more than a whisper in the wind. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good, I must have left the papers at the office.” 

Daisy was leaning against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest, one eyebrow perked up. But her eyes were sunken into her face, and her lips were still pale, and her clothes hung off of her in awkward places.

Who are you, she wanted to ask, but instead said, “Let’s walk. You need the exercise.”


End file.
